Wanderlost
by Veravine
Summary: The stories, present and past, of a splinter tribe of elves. When elves stray from their tribes, often they wander alone. But sometimes, they wander here.


-1Sunrise sped over the plains like a boar with a spear in its ribs, dark-eyed and scowling as if in pain. It was time to begin settling in for the day, taking cover from the bugs and cruel glare of the sun here in the height of summer, when the entire breadth of Endless baked and burned. But as usual, Lake did not want to cooperate.

For over six-eights turns of the seasons, Sunrise had been the youngest of her tribe, until Lake was born. Against the tradition of her people, she named him the first time she held him in her arms.

"His name is Lake," she had murmured over the infant's still-bloody head. "That is where I met his sire."

Long Night had looked at her in surprise. Twin of her soul, Long Night was born only two hours earlier than Sunrise, though the stronger elfin blood in her veins made the clay-skinned woman look turns younger. She had been there for her soul sister, in place of a sire who had never been present. "It's too soon," Long Night told her gently. The naming of children was done at least a turn after their birth, when their survival was more certain and enough time had passed to be sure the name was appropriate. Her voice was soft, for never before had Sunrise spoken of her child's sire willingly. She never would again.

It was rare that Sunrise turned her customary glare on Long Night, but the difficult birthing had already consumed her patience for the day. "He is going to live," Sunrise declared. "Has a child of Recognition ever given up so easily?"

A full eight turns had passed since that day, and as she had predicted, Lake had never shown any sign of frailty. He had his father's broad shoulders and warm brown hair, so like clay, down to the pale blond streaks it gained in the summer when the blistering sun baked the color out of it. He tanned so easily, so unlike his mother, that she was certain he better resembled Long Night. He had her laugh, her humor, and her annoying habit of doing what he wanted whether or not he had anyone's approval. To that, Long Night always told her that it was truly _her_ laugh, even if Sunrise had never heard it; _her_ sense of humor, since she never used it; and all of the ambition and curiosity _she_ found no interest in. "He is everything you deny in yourself," Long Night had said once. Sunrise did not believe it, but at the same time, she could not forget the words...

_Lake!_ she called to him, moving passed annoyance toward anger and the first twinges of worry. Her namesake was almost over for the day; she was worn and tired, and already feeling the brush of early mosquitoes against her hands and cheeks. It was going to be another trying day of attempting to sleep through fiery heat and whining insects. The later it became, the harder it would be to be sleeping deeply before the worst of it set in. _Lake! Answer me, __now__!_

Her only reply was the drone of bugs, and a muzzy feeling at the back of her mind. Lake was fine, but he was not alert. The fool child had fallen asleep already, and her shouting had only been enough to stir him a little. "Cursed Recognition," she muttered under her breath. She often cursed the day that calling had come to her, with the male she had never met before or again and had instantly disliked. But never the son it had given her and her tribe. Never Lake.

Lake's unconscious acknowledgement helped to direct her, at least. Endless stretched for eights-of-days in every direction, an empty, bowl-shaped plain with nothing but fieldgrass and the occasional spindly tree or dusty rock outcropping to break the monotony. When the clouds rolled through in the winter, blocking out the sky for an eight-of-days or more at a time, an elf could go in circles and never know it, unless he came upon his own tracks.

At last, with the sun a finger's breadth over the distant horizon, the elf woman located her wayward son. He was fast asleep in the shade of a boulder all but hidden in the shoulder-high grasses, its edges worn smooth after centuries of exposure to autumn winds and spring rains. He looked so at peace, so young, with his mouth hanging open just a bit, long brown eyelashes nearly reaching the tip of his upturned nose. That nose, at least, was one feature he had inherited from his mother. Sometimes it seemed like the only one. Lake looked all the younger, tucked like a toddler under the arm of the second oldest elf she had ever known.

_Shade and sweet water, Sunrise_, Songsayer greeted her, eyes crinkling as he met her dark expression with a grin. Centuries of sun and wind had weathered the old elf's skin to the consistency of broken-in leather, but his jade eyes were clear and cool as pine needles at the base of their tree. Sunrise had never seen such trees or their odd, pin-like leaves, except in the sharing of memories of those far older than she. _I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Until you called, I did not think you were in range._

_You did not think to call out, in case I was?_

_Ah… well, thinking is not the strong suit of old elves, dear child. We are so set in our ways, it is so troublesome to have to think…_

_You fool no one, you old fool._ Sunrise sank down on Lake's other side. _You wouldn't try to claim that if Silverreed was around._

Songsayer just laughed. _Oh, he would be amused, I am sure. Even he has more of a sense of humor than you do._

Sunrise grunted, a wordless reply that said all she wanted to about that. She folded her legs to the side, sidling over to rest her head against Lake's leg to act as a pillow. She lay on her side, to take up the least amount of space on the ground so not to crush too much of the grass shading them. The stalks surrounding her helpfully bent inward, blocking out some of the sunlight that was already bringing a haze over the expansive plain. Nothing more dangerous than dust-colored foxes had been seen since Lake had been conceived. Sunrise, like many of the others, still slept lightly out of habit, but their tribe had fallen out of the practice of posting sentries to guard the rest while they slept. There were no mountains near here, to provide shelter for bears or mountain cats, nor enough trees for the felines that preferred such places. No humans had ever been seen on Endless. Without the larger predators, belligerent scavengers were also scarce, leaving only the sorts of animals that made due with burrows, ground nests, and underground warrens. As such, small game was always plentiful: Lake had never known hunger.

_How did you get him to sleep so quickly?_ she asked the elder. The swaying grasses wove patterns of light and dark against her eyelids. She had to concentrate to keep her eyes shut, mentally reminding herself that the movement was just grass, not anything in it. It was so much easier to fall asleep before the sun rose, when such movement was not visible through closed eyes.

_He likes stories quite a bit, but rarely stays with me to the end,_ Songsayer sighed. _The days he does, I worry that he is getting old too fast. Has it really been a full eight turns?_

_It really has, old one. Don't wish it to be any shorter._

_The more turns one has behind them, the harder it is to keep track of them as they pass. That is the honest truth._

"Hm," Sunrise murmured aloud. She had always preferred silence to speaking, but speaking to Sending. Sending drew others too close to her, for her personal tastes. If not for Lake, she would have happily traveled the world with only herself as company, as previous elves had done. It was in her blood: her mother had been the same way, barely staying long enough to wean her daughter. Sunrise's older brother, Antler, had been the last elf to die at the claws of a mountain cat, and the last elf before Long Night to be conceived of Recognition. Sunrise had been conceived shortly thereafter without its aid, and only her sire's insistence that traveling with an infant would do Nasara no good kept her from continuing on her way. Though she refused to admit it, Antler's death troubled her so much that she could not bear to remain any longer. (At least, that is what Lastwolf and Songsayer would have Sunrise believe.) Both Sidesword and Nasara knew that anyone else who concerned themselves over it was doubly concerned with keeping Nasara's foreign bloodline in the tribe. No little manipulation of the guilt over Antler's death kept Nasara's wanderings to a minimum until Sunrise was ready to stand on her own.

Unfortunately for Sunrise, by then the bonds between the lifemates were woven too well: when Nasara took her freedom from the tribe, Sidesword chose his mate over his daughter. Neither had been seen since. Only the gentle reminders of her elders allowed her to remember what they looked like.

And more unfortunate, that she had finally found the comfort with herself to consider her mother's path without the sting of rejection or anger, to come to understand that longing for subsistence and solitude - only to be ensnared by Recognition's pull less than a moons' turn from the day she tried leaving the tribe herself. The High Ones were against her ever being alone, no matter how much it sometimes felt like she needed it. Long Night preceded her; Recognition impeded her; Lake needed her. She might have come to understand her mother's urge for travel, but she would never be so selfish as her mother, or the elf who had not bothered to even give her his name to pass on to his son. She was mother and father to Lake, that he would never know what it was like to be without either.

_A story, Songsayer?_ she murmured. She did not want to think about these things, but the waves of grass kept distracting her, making her open her eyes, keeping her awake enough to think. _What story were you telling him today?_

He needed no explanation why she asked. There was a smile in his voice as he replied, _An old story, child._ The elf was ancient: though it annoyed her to be called that, he called everyone that, even Chief Lastwolf. Even Silverreed wasn't immune, though he was Songsayer's elder by uncounted turns: Silverreed's immortal blood made him infinitely younger than the elf with wolf blood in his veins. Without her needing to ask, he began to tell the story again, Sending to her the memories of elves she had never known, to block out the sight of her physical eyes and to better help her sleep.


End file.
